A Friend in Need
by Rygelina
Summary: ...is a friend indeed! Fluff! Nikita needs help, and there's only one person up to the task. Rating is probably a bit high. Contains a little mild swearing, that's all. Enjoy!


Disclaimer: I do not own the characters and situations of Nikita.

Author's Note: Warning! Saccharine-sweet piece of fluff! (Pun intended! You'll see...hehe.) I was just eating some home-made chocolate cake, minding my own business, when the plot-bunnies bogarted my dessert! What was I to do, except exorcise the little demons? Nasty creatures, them plot bunnies...****

**A Friend in Need...**

Michael hurried out of the elevator and proceeded down the hall towards Nikita's door. He was a little worried. Oh, who was he trying to kid, he was _very_ worried.

It was Saturday, and for once he had been at home, in bed, sleeping when Nikita had called, sounding almost hysterical. He couldn't make out exactly what she was talking about, except that she needed his help, and something about a break-in. Before he knew it he was out of bed, dressed, and burning rubber to her apartment. Now he wondered if that had been the smartest move in the world.

But he was glad a few moments later when her front-door swung open at his knock, both locks disengaged and chain hanging loose. He reached down to his ankle holster and pulled out his back-up gun. Gingerly he pushed the door open.

"Nikita?"

There was no answer. The living room was quiet and dim, the overcast sky outside throwing shadows in every corner. Then a crash from the kitchen made him hug the wall. Visions of gun-toting burglars and robbers in ski-masks danced in his head before he told himself to cut it out. This was _Nikita's_ apartment, after all. Pity the poor burglar.

Nonetheless he carefully eased around the corner, gun raised... and promptly froze at the sight of a kitchen in complete disarray. It looked like a tornado had hit. There were kitchen utensils, bowls, pans, groceries, boxes and bags everywhere. Nikita was on the floor, her skin a chalky white.

"Nikita! Are you alright?"

Nikita screamed, and he almost put a bullet in the wall when a stainless-steel bowl came flying towards him. It narrowly missed his head and then she threw herself at him so hard he almost lost his footing.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! You startled me. Oh my God, I'm so glad you're here, Michael. You have to help me, I don't know what to do. I have no idea what all this crap means and I can't believe I just had to open my big mouth when I don't know what the hell I'm doing!"

She was pacing now, wringing her hands. She seemed fine and, upon closer inspection, the chalky, white stuff sort of looked like... flour?

"Uh... Nikita?"

She was still mumbling under her breath, pacing back and forth through the debris-field that used to be her kitchen floor, when she suddenly stopped and zeroed in on him, looking perplexed.

"Michael? Why do you have your gun out?"

"You said you needed help. With a break-in."

For a moment she looked even more confused. Then her eyes widened and her hands flew up to her mouth. A small, snorting sound escaped, and Michael realized she was desperately trying to stifle a laugh.

"What?" he growled.

"Not _break-in_. Baking." Her shoulders were shaking. "I need your help _baking_."

His expression must have been somewhat murderous because she hastened to explain.

"The home-owners' association is having a bake-sale tomorrow. There was a meeting yesterday and I was just trying to blend in, so I went, I thought it would be good for my cover, you know, and when they wanted people to help out I... kind of... volunteered." She peeked up at him through her fingers, as if afraid to look at him. "I have to make a-hundred-and-fifty cupcakes by tomorrow morning."

"You wha-? A-hundred-and... Why would you do that?"

"I don't know!" Nikita's voice had climbed an entire octave. "Isn't that what normal people do?"

"No!" Michael was sounding a bit shrill himself, and he took a deep breath. He put his gun back in its holster. Which was a good thing since another thought just then occurred to him. "Wait a minute. You dragged me out of bed to help you make cupcakes?"

Nikita's cheeks reddened and she threw herself on his mercy.

"Please, Michael. You have to help me. I don't even know where to start." She was looking at him beseechingly with those big, brown eyes. "I mean, who else was I supposed to call?"

"Amanda?" he suggested. Her only response was a withering look. "Okay, okay, maybe not."

He sighed. He could never say no to her when she looked at him like that. He knew it, and she knew it. But he didn't mind. He would do anything to make her happy.

"Fine. I'll help."

She threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Then she let go and backed away rather awkwardly, blushing a delicate shade of pink. Michael looked away and decided to focus on the business at hand.

"First thing's first. Where's your recipe?" She quickly grabbed a sizable pile of print-outs from the counter. He just looked at her sternly. "Pick one."

She rifled through the stack and held one up hopefully. "Chocolate?" He nodded his approval and she started reciting the recipe.

"'Pre-heat oven to 425 F.' Okay... check. 'Melt chocolate in double-boiler'." She looked up at him in desperation. "That's what I'm talking about. I mean, what the hell is a double-boiler?"

"Relax. You don't need one." Michael half-filled a small sauce-pan with water and put a Pyrex mixing-bowl on top of it. He was rewarded with a look of such admiration and gratefulness that, for a moment, his heart almost stopped. Somehow he managed to tear his gaze away from hers. He cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest in full lecture-mode.

"Okay. Baking is basically about chemistry. As long as you measure all the ingredients carefully and stick to the recipe, it's actually a pretty straightforward..."

A few minutes later, they had cleared away most of the clutter and were baking up a storm. Several hours after that, platters of cupcakes had appeared throughout the kitchen and the entire apartment smelled like melted chocolate. Nikita was measuring ingredients for the last batch of batter when she noticed something.

"Wait a minute here. Why am I the only one covered in flour?"

It was true. Nikita looked ready for a snowman contest, while Michael looked as neat as always, albeit in jeans and a casual shirt. No flour or icing sugar anywhere. It was infuriating. Michael pretended to give it considerable thought.

"Seniority?" he said with a grin.

"Yeah, right." Nikita rolled her eyes and resumed measuring. Covertly, she assessed the distance between her and Michael, and scooped up a handful of flour from the bag. Apparently though, she wasn't covert enough.

"Don't you dare, Nikita!" Michael warned, but his eyes danced with laughter.

"Come on, Michael." She shot him a flirtatious smile and slowly stalked around the counter. "You know me. I _so_ dare." She raised her hand, but Michael was having none of it. He mounted a counterattack with a spatula covered in cupcake-batter. Her eyes widened. "Oh, no you don't!" she squealed as she desperately tried to dodge the improvised weapon.

Fortunately, Michael had taught her many useful things; to his detriment, you might say. After a brief tussle, she managed to snake an arm under his shoulder and smacked her flour-covered palm against his forehead in a cloud of white. Then she burst out laughing at his stunned look. She probably should have run instead.

Michael smiled at her dangerously. "You'll pay for that."

"Oh, yeah? Bring it on." As it turns out, bravado was all she had. A few seconds later she found herself in a bear-hug from behind, and all the air squeezed out of her lungs with an oof. The spatula was closing in on her nose, but she managed to get one hand up to block it. "No, no, no, no, no!"

"Oh, yes. Payback's a bitch." She was putting up a good fight, though, and Michael decided to change tactics. He loosened one arm and tickled her right in the ribs. She immediately seized up, screaming for mercy. The spatula landed, and all of a sudden there was cupcake-batter everywhere.

"Hey Nikki, your door's... uh...open..."

Michael and Nikita both froze at the familiar voice. Birkhoff was standing right behind them, looking like a deer that had just been caught in the head-lights of an oncoming eighteen-wheeler. He took in the scene. Michael with his arms around Nikita, both of them covered in flour and batter.

"Now that's just disturbing, guys. Jeez." He sauntered in anyway, and headed for the nearest platter of cupcakes.

"What the hell are you doing here, Birkhoff?"

"Chill, Mikey. Just needed a signature, so I checked your tracker-position. Didn't think you were busy doing..." he looked them up and down and wiggled his fingers "...whatever it is you're doing." Then he smirked at Nikita. "Or maybe I did." He reached for a cupcake. Nikita smacked his hand with the spatula. "Ow!"

"Hands off the goodies, nerd!"

Michael grabbed him by the back of his collar and shook him about a little.

"Want me to throw him out the window?"

Nikita sighed. "No, I guess not." Birkhoff looked relieved, until she grabbed the front of his shirt and stared him down. "As long as the nerd understands that if he breathes a single word about this, _he_ will be the one going in the oven." Birkhoff managed a shaky thumbs-up. "Good boy," she said and stuffed a cupcake in his mouth.

Then she turned to Michael. "So... are we done here, _Mikey_?" He crossed his arms again and smiled down at her, looking rather pleased with himself.

"Yes, _Nikki_, we're all done."

She grabbed a towel to wipe herself down, but he took it from her and gently started cleaning the batter from her face and hands. When he was done, she did the same to him. Their eyes locked, and somehow, her movements became slower and slower, more and more like a caress than anything else. A muffled snort startled them both back into the world.

"What was that, nerd?"

"Nothin'. I mean... great cupcakes."

Nikita smiled at Michael. "Thanks for the help. You're a life-saver."

"I'd say 'anytime', but I really hope there won't be another _baking_-emergency."

She laughed at that, a devilish glint in her eyes. "You never know." Michael couldn't quite decide whether he was dreading it or looking forward to it.

Which is when Birkhoff piped up again.

"So, guys, who gets to lick the bowl?"

THE END


End file.
